


Flares

by havetardiswilltimetravel



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, Sensory Overload, fibromyalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:52:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6730984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havetardiswilltimetravel/pseuds/havetardiswilltimetravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it hit sharply, immediately. Most times, it snuck up on him - the pain starting as a mild ache and turning into something deep seated and unrelenting, the exhaustion moving from negligible to overwhelming, the world becoming too bright, too loud, too much, the entirety of him shifting from slightly off to very not ok.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flares

Sometimes it hit sharply, immediately. Most times, it snuck up on him - the pain starting as a mild ache and turning into something deep seated and unrelenting, the exhaustion moving from negligible to overwhelming, the world becoming too bright, too loud, too much, the entirety of him shifting from slightly off to very not ok.

Suddenly and not so suddenly, his skin would feel fragile, pain rippling beneath it without discrimination - every joint grating against the next, every nerve firing in a different direction, every layer of every muscle in his body bruised and raw. His eyes would sting, his head would dull, and for no bloody reason.

The times he could pin down why were easier than the times his mind would war over what he'd done when there was nothing concrete to blame. Fibromyalgia didn't have rhyme or reason to its destruction, not always. Often Sherlock felt like it thrived best without either of those grounding elements to hinder its path. 

Often Sherlock felt like it was taunting him, like the disorder enjoyed the mayhem it created, basked in the pain it caused.  _Look at your transport now,_  it would say, prickles of electric undercurrent settling into an ache, one that sank deep into his bones.

It wasn’t always this difficult. Sometimes the symptoms were hardly noticeable. Sometimes he could push them away. Sometimes they eased quickly. But when it struck hard, it did so without mercy.

And when he found no reprieve, when it got to be too much, when he felt like he might cry from it all and it felt unerringly like his heart might crumple up like a piece of paper - that it could easily do so under the weight of nothing at all, John would step in and pull him close, wrap him up in a heavy blanket and run a gentle hand through his hair, speak soft murmured words that wouldn't drown out the pain but might ease it.

_Tomorrow will come soon._  He would murmur.  _And then the tomorrow after that and the tomorrow after that...one of them will be better. And then maybe the next. And the next._

The fog surrounding his brain made him drift. John tethered him down. He would close his eyes and let John hold him, his cheek moving against the almost too much texture of John's jeans or John's shirt. Everything would fade into white noise. John would be his focal point. And he would breathe.

_Tomorrow...Or the tomorrow after that..._

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently inflicting my feelings on fictional characters is becoming a habit.
> 
> Originally posted on tumblr [here](http://havetardiswilltimetravel.tumblr.com/post/143744377349/)


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